


A Matter of Definition

by emluv



Series: Can't Judge a Book [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emluv/pseuds/emluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Bones escape to Vermont for a few days of skiing to ring in the new year. But as midnight approaches on the 31st, all is not well in their snowy paradise. A short follow up to Can't Judge a Book by Its Cover. I recommend you read that first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Definition

**Author's Note:**

> A while back, as part of a rom com challenge, I wrote a Jim-and-Bones adaptation of the Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan film You've Got Mail. Then when the gay marriage legislation went through (again) in California, I started tinkering with a short follow up that had nothing to do with the original film, and everything to do with my loving these versions of Kirk and McCoy and wondering how their relationship might have evolved at a point when legalized gay marriage was still just a dream. I set aside my first draft and kind of forgot about it. However, this afternoon I was searching for a way to distract myself from a two-week long heat wave, and remembered this fic took place on a cold, snowy night. And here it is.

_Stowe, VT_

_December 31, 2000; 10:54pm_

 

Hypnotic flames danced in the brick wood-burning fireplace, and at any other time Leonard might have been lulled to sleep by their soothing warmth and orange glow. Instead he sat on the lumpy hearth rug, back pressed against the couch, face flushed red, stomach roiling, painfully conscious of the contrast between the heat of the cozy suite and the frozen snow-capped wonderland just outside the door. A door through which Jim had disappeared over two hours earlier wearing nothing more protective than a heavy woolen sweater and threadbare jeans.

 

For what felt like the millionth time, he glanced back toward the kitchen area where a digital clock on the coffee maker now proclaimed it 10:55 in glowing red numerals. Five more minutes. He’d give it five minutes before he pulled on his own considerable collection of winter-weather paraphernalia and went out in search of his… what? His lover? Boyfriend? He didn’t even know anymore. There was no word for what they were, not one that didn’t make them sound like a couple of sixteen-year-olds. But whatever they were, whatever Jim was to him, Leonard would be damned if he let the fool get pneumonia, wandering around half dressed in below-freezing temperatures. 

 

Exactly two minutes passed before he grumbled, “Fuck it,” and pushed to his feet. His upright position afforded him a clear view out the front window where the lantern illuminating the stoop also revealed that it was snowing once more. Leonard swore again as he shoved his feet into his boots, glad Jim had at least stopped long enough to put his own on before haring off. He paused to bank the fire and close the glass safety screen, then quickly wrapped his muffler around his neck, donned his bright red ski jacket and tugged the matching knit hat over his ears. He checked his pockets for his wallet and the room key, then scooped up his gloves and, after a second’s pause, Jim’s coat, and strode purposefully to the door. A blast of frigid, snowy air pelted him in the face as soon as he opened it, making him squint.

 

But it would take more than a little frosty precipitation for him turn back. Leonard stepped carefully onto the front path and pulled the door firmly shut behind him. He paused a moment to take in the scene, somewhat dejected to realize that it must have been snowing for quite a while. The parking area was coated by a fresh layer of white, and whatever footprints had marred the walkway were almost entirely filled in, including Jim’s. With a jolt, Leonard glanced toward where they’d parked earlier in the evening, relieved to see the rental still in its space, covered by several inches of fluffy white powder glistening in the moonlight. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Jim might have driven off. Despite his concern that the man was walking around without his jacket in this weather, it was still preferable to him driving in it. The roads had already been an icy mess when they were coming  back from dinner.

 

Resigned, Leonard tucked Jim’s coat under his arm and slipped his hands into his gloves. He had no idea where to go. It was too late for the resort’s pool or fitness center to be open, the restaurant only served breakfast and lunch, and the nearest bar was a good half-mile down the road. Squinting, he could just make out the marquee of the little movie theater across the street, but that hardly seemed the sort of place where Jim would go to think or sulk or whatever he was doing.

 

Out of options, he started for the front office, figuring at the very least they might have some suggestions of where to look, though he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Jim wandering through the cold night. The snow crunched heavily beneath his boots, but the combination of well-kept path and rock salt beneath gave him good traction, enabling him to walk with reasonable confidence. Still, the wind was brisk, and the snow itself seemed to be changing over to sleet, whipping at his face and stinging his cheeks, already tender from three days on the slopes. It was with a mild sense of relief that he rounded the corner and saw the lights were on in the office, though they could hardly be expecting more guests this late on New Year’s Eve.

 

He ducked under the eaves of the main building, stomping his feet and hastily dusting the snow from where it had started accumulating on his head and shoulders, then dragged open the heavy wooden door, setting the small attached bell chiming as he slipped inside.

 

Blessed warmth greeted him, making him aware just how far the temperature had dropped since earlier in the day, when he had been perfectly comfortable on the sunny slopes wearing virtually what he had on now, with just the addition of ski pants. He felt a frisson of panic at the renewed thought of Jim out in such dangerous conditions, and hurried toward the reservation desk, where an older woman sat, head angled downward.

 

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Leonard began, shucking his gloves and jamming them into his coat pockets. He nodded when the woman glanced up. She bore a strong resemblance to the manager who had checked them in four days earlier, with the same vaguely heart-shaped face and bright green eyes, though her auburn hair was threaded with grey, suggesting she was an older relative, perhaps minding the office for the holiday. As he drew nearer, he noted she had a mess of knitting propped in her lap, and the festivities in Times Square playing out with the sound muted on a mini television behind the counter. “I’m looking for a friend of mine,” he said, but stopped when she smiled broadly and tipped her head sideways toward the lounge area.

 

“I think you’ll find what you’re looking for by the fire, dear,” she told him. “There should still be some hot chocolate left if you’d like to thaw out.”

 

Leonard turned and spotted the top of a familiar dark blond head over the back of one of the couches. Its owner scrunched down a few inches as if sensing he was being watched. He let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate that,” he told the receptionist with a smile.

 

He moved slowly toward the seating area, a bit unsure of what he wanted to say now that he had actually located Jim. He pulled off his hat, static making it rasp and spark, his hair fanning out around him even as he tried with little success to flatten it with his palm. Rounding the sofa, he found the other man slumped low, surrounded by plump little throw pillows in a rainbow of colors, a beige knitted afghan over his knees. He had his chin pressed to his chest, and clutched a half-full Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate between his hands. Something about the pose was so childish and pouty that Leonard suddenly grew angry. Two hours he’d sat back in their room, alone on New Year’s Eve, worried about the cold and how upset Jim had been, and here he sat, warm and snug with his cup of cocoa. He’d probably been there the entire time.

 

Leonard dropped Jim’s coat onto the cushion beside him, ignoring it when the silky fabric slithered off the sofa and ended up in a heap on the floor. “Figured you’d need that,” he gruffed, even as he set about shoving his hat back on his head.

 

Jim glanced upward, barely moving except to roll his eyes in Leonard’s direction. But when Leonard turned back the way he’d come, he heard the sofa cushions squeak, followed by a soft sigh. “Bones, wait.”

 

“I’ve been waiting, back in our room, for two damn hours, wondering and worrying,” he groused, shaking his head. “Waiting for you to work out whatever the hell was bothering you and come talk to me like a grown up.” He glanced back over his shoulder to find Jim standing there, face impassive, just watching him. “I’m sorry I upset you, but that wasn’t my intention, and nothing I said merited this sort of treatment,” he added firmly. “So, I’m done waiting, darlin’.” As if to emphasize his statement, he strode back toward the front door without so much as a pause to allow Jim to respond.

  

~*~

 

Jim watched Leonard’s retreat until he vanished into the snowy night, not quite slamming the door behind him, though no doubt only in deference to Mrs. Callahan  behind the front desk, who, Jim noted, had her head tactfully ducked down, attention ostensibly on her knitting.

 

Unsure what to do, he sipped at his hot chocolate, grimacing when he discovered it had gone cold and gritty. He glanced into the cup and sighed. Probably a sign that it was high time he sucked it up, metaphorically speaking at least, and went after his angry lover.  He wandered over to the small wet bar and poured the remainder of the drink down the sink, tossing the cup into the trash. Then he returned to the couch and started folding the afghan, carefully lining up the corners until a sound of frustration filtered over from the reception area.

 

“Leave the damn thing and go after him.”

 

Jim glanced up, somewhat startled at the woman’s vehemence, given how careful she had been to keep her nose out up until this point. When he’d wandered in half-frozen, she hadn’t asked any questions, just told him he was welcome to warm himself by the fire and to help himself to a hot drink. She had held her tongue the entire time he’d been curled up on the couch, running circles in his head.

 

“Excuse me?” he asked.

 

Mrs. Callahan sighed and stood, dropping her work on the desk with a rattle of knitting needles. “Fool boy. He came in here worried sick and you managed to turn him around in less than two minutes. Now get your rear in gear and go after him. What you’re doing at midnight sets the tone for the whole year, and you’ve got just half an hour to kiss and make up. Or do you want to spend all of 2001 fighting with your man?”

 

2001\. New Year’s Eve. Jim glanced down at his watch and saw it was just edging toward 11:30. Shit, how the hell had it gotten so late? No wonder Bones was so angry.

 

Jim snagged his coat off the floor and dragged it on as he headed toward the door. “Thanks, Mrs. Callahan,” he said, waving as he ducked outside, struggling to get his arm into his sleeve.

 

“You’re welcome!” came floating after him on the wind, even as he started to jog back toward the room.

 

The ground had grown slick and, even in his boots, Jim slipped and slid along the path, unwilling to slow enough to get a more secure footing. As if he hadn’t been on shaky ground for hours, he thought, gut tightening with anxiety. For all his alone time, for all that he’d spent the past couple of hours turning the situation over in his mind, examining it from every angle, his thoughts were in just as much turmoil as they had been when he started. He kept coming back to _why_ , and the razor-edged fear that accompanied the question. He’d thought things were good – perfect, even – but you didn’t go messing with things that were good. If they were perfect, you didn’t look for ways to change them. He had thought he and Bones were on the same page.  Apparently he was wrong.

 

But Mrs. Callahan was right. It was nearly midnight, and there was no way he was letting the new year start with this unresolved between them. Whatever Bones was thinking, whatever he was looking for, Jim knew they needed to talk it out.

 

Light shone through a gap in the heavy drapes that had been drawn across the front window of their room, and the small lantern over the door illuminated the stoop. Jim reached cold fingers into the back pocket of his jeans and drew out his key card as he stomped on the front mat, knocking the worst of the snow from his boots and, no doubt, alerting Bones to his return. He shoved the key into the slot and, when the lock whirled and the light flashed green, pushed inside and shut the door behind him, leaning back against it as if to guard against the snow swirling through the frigid night.  

 

The sitting area was deserted. Orange embers burned low in the fireplace behind the protective screen, and the only lamp lit was the one by the window. Bones’s boots sat by the door and his wet coat hung over the back of the desk chair, angled toward the radiator. The good bottle of bourbon – which they had picked up on the drive to Vermont, and stored on top of the mini fridge each night after sharing a glass – was conspicuously missing. The door to the bedroom was closed, faint light seeping out from underneath, highlighting a pale swath of carpeting.

 

Jim toed off his boots and shrugged out of his coat, tossing it on the coat rack. He raked his hands through his damp hair and stared at the closed door for a long moment. It could be a hint, a suggestion he sleep on the couch, but Jim knew that even if it was, that wasn’t going to solve anything. He took a deep breath and padded across the floor, pausing for just a few seconds before  quietly opening the door.

 

The lights were off, the only illumination coming from the big screen TV opposite the king-sized bed. Bones sprawled up against the headboard, still dressed, a cheap hotel water glass half-filled with bourbon propped on one denim-clad knee, grey shadows dancing across his face. He kept his eyes focused intently on the television, as if only through his rapt attention would Dick Clark successfully ring in the new year.

 

Jim walked over to the vanity and picked up the other water glass, then trailed back around the bed and climbed in on his side. When his actions met with no objection, he adjusted the pillows comfortably behind his back, scrunched down with his knees pulled up, and, keeping his own eyes tuned to the TV as well, held his glass out toward Bones.

 

Nothing happened for long enough that Jim thought Bones might just ignore him, but then he saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, heard a soft clink as Bones set his own glass down on the nightstand and picked up the bourbon bottle. He took Jim’s glass and poured three fingers of the deep amber liquid into it, but when Jim reached to claim it, pulled his hand across his body, out of his reach.

 

“You gonna tell me why you flipped out on me?” he asked.

 

Jim turned to find Bones glaring at him. “You going to make me compete with Times Square?” he asked pointedly, tipping his head toward the TV.

 

Bones frowned but handed over the glass. He returned the bottle to the nightstand and snatched up the television remote, jamming his thumb down on the mute button. “Happy?” he demanded gruffly, throwing the remote down on the bed.

 

Jim stared down into his glass and sighed. “Not particularly,” he mumbled, then took a sip.

 

Bones had reclaimed his drink and took a healthy swallow of his own. He slouched back against the headboard again, but there was nothing easy or relaxed in the way he held his body.

 

Jim rested his glass against his knee, both hands wrapped around it. He focused on the muted television where the latest pop starlet was strutting across a stage in an outfit totally inappropriate for a late December night in Manhattan. It didn’t look like it was snowing in Times Square, but it still had to be cold. For a moment, Jim wished they were there, that they had stayed home and spent the holiday in their own apartment, in their own bed.

 

Restless shifting reminded him that Bones was waiting for him to say something. Jim started to take another sip of his bourbon, thought better of it, and set the glass down on his nightstand.

 

“I’ve been trying to figure out what you were hoping to achieve.” He continued staring at the television, though he was no longer seeing it. “I just… Things have been so good. I know I’ve been traveling a lot with the new store, but you seemed to understand, and you were busy working on your next book and getting ready to promote the first one. I thought we were happy.”

 

“What? Of course we’re happy. Why would you think we weren’t?”

 

“Can’t be all that happy if you’re looking for ways to change our relationship,” he said with a shrug.

 

“Damn it, Jim,” Bones muttered beside him as he struggled to swing his legs off the side of the bed. He reached over to fumble with the bedside lamp, throwing a warm glow across the covers, then stood and began searching through the rumpled blanket for the remote. “I’ve grown pretty damn fond of your mama, especially since she settled down with Pike, but there are days I would cheerfully throttle her for all the ways she’s knotted up your heart and your head.” Finding the remote, he snapped off the television, then turned back toward Jim, hands braced on his hips.

 

“This has nothing to do with my mother. This is about us, and why you have this sudden urge to change things out of the clear blue sky. In my experience, people only change things because the current situation is no longer working, or it’s getting… stale.”

 

“In case it’s escaped your notice, I love you, you idiot.” Bones lifted his hands out to his sides, then let them fall. “And there’s nothing stale about our situation. We have a great life, Jim. Why the hell would I ask you to marry me if I wasn’t happy with you?”

 

“Why the hell would you ask me to marry you at all? We’re two men, Bones. We can’t get married!”

 

“Not technically, no. Not yet. But we both know folks who have made that kind of commitment on their own terms.” He crawled back onto the bed with a quiet sigh. “I thought we could exchange rings and a few words, have our friends over as witnesses. Just a quiet ceremony, something between us, and screw the legislation.”

 

“But it wouldn’t be any different than what we have now,” Jim pointed out. “We live together, we’ve combined our finances and paperwork as much as the law lets us. I just… I don’t understand what brought this up. Is it because you used to be married? Does it not feel real without that?”

 

Bones opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of whatever he’d planned to say, his brows furrowed in thought. “It’s not a question of making it real,” he said after a moment. “Or proving anything to anyone. I think it’s just…” He shrugged. “It’s the way I was brought up. You fall in love with someone, you commit to them for life, you get married. And I know that’s a hopelessly old fashioned, heterosexual viewpoint of the world, but it’s a view I like. A label I like. The idea that two people create something between them that’s larger than the sum of their parts.”

 

“I don’t know that I’ve ever heard marriage described that way,” Jim admitted quietly.

 

Bones shifted over so their shoulders were aligned and gave Jim a little nudge. “So what exactly went through your head when I asked you?”

 

“Panic. I panicked, and wondered what I’d done wrong.”

 

Bones let out a pained chuckle. “Only you would interpret a marriage proposal as some sort of relationship apocalypse. Was it just because technically two men can’t marry, or was there something more to it?”

 

“I don’t know. Yes. There were a lot of things running through my brain. I’m not sure I can sort them all out.”

 

“Try.”

 

Jim sighed. “I thought about all the trips I’ve been taking down to Philly, and how I shouldn’t have been neglecting you.”

 

“They were work trips and, as you pointed out, I had plenty to keep me busy at home. Not to mention, my work is imminently portable. There was no reason I couldn’t have packed up my laptop and come with you if I was feeling lonely. Please don’t paint me as the helpless, ignored housewife in this scenario.”

 

“Right. Sorry,” Jim said, a faint smile painting his lips.

 

“What’s so funny?”

 

“I just had a brief flash of you in that ruffled apron you wear to make pancakes for Jo-Jo.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “She picked it out, you know. Insisted I needed one just like her grandmother’s.”

 

“You’re a soft touch, Bones.”

 

“Mmm. Not just for Jo, either.”

 

“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “I know.” He sank down a bit more, curling into the warm body beside him. “I’m sorry I flipped out on you.”

 

Bones snaked an arm behind Jim and tugged him a bit closer. “I’m sorry I sent you into a tail spin. It never occurred to me that you’d react so badly. I thought you’d be happy that I was finally taking some initiative.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Just that you were the one pushing us forward at every stage of our relationship, and I was the one holding us back at a snail’s pace every time. I figured it was my turn to push us to the next level.”

 

“And here I thought there weren’t any levels left.”

 

“If there were? If they changed the laws tomorrow and defined marriage as between two human beings instead of between a man and a woman? What would you do then?”

 

Jim snorted. “I think that I’d be obligated to eat one of my old baseball caps, based on a discussion with Spock a few years back.”

 

“Terrific. So after we’d visited the emergency room and got that mess untangled from your intestines, then what?”

 

“Meet you down at City Hall.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Positive. They make it legal, I’ll be first in line.”

 

“And in the meantime?”

 

Jim smiled at the tentative look on the other man’s face. “I don’t need a ring to remember that I belong to you, Bones,” he murmured. “But if it’ll make you happy to put one on me, I’ll wear it for you.”

 

Dark brows shot up. “Really?”

 

“I love you, too, you know.”

 

With one swift move, Bones had dragged Jim down the bed, away from the headboard, and was sprawled over him. “I’m holding you to that, you know.”

 

“To loving you?” Jim smirked, snaking his arms up over Bones’s shoulders. “You go right ahead.”


End file.
